The weather in my home town is unseasonably warm. It is as if winter is hiding, just around the corner, afraid to come out.

I’m actually okay with that.

I don’t like to be cold. The worst day when it is hot, is better than the best day when it is cold, speaking specifically of the weather.

No matter how many clothes you put on, winter coats, winter hats, gloves, long underwear, sweaters, down vests, etc. the cold still finds a way in, like needles.  When it is hot, you can always take clothes off, right? You can always drink more water.

Ah yes, water.

It hasn’t rained here in days, maybe weeks. Snow? Haven’t seen any. Weird.

It should be snowing. I should have a sore back from shoveling (no, I never invested in a snow blower). I know we need the water. So, I know we need the winter.

The sun has moved farther south. The days are shorter. But, the temperatures are still warm. I could live with this, for awhile. However most of the leaves have fallen and the bare trees just don’t look quite right, silhouetted against a deep blue sky still warm.

Perhaps winter will come out when autumn can no longer prevent the north wind from frosting the brittle fallen leaves decorating my once green lawn.

Until then, I will turn my face to the sun and hope that perhaps this year, we may skip through the darkest days of winter, without having to dawn snow boots and snow tires.

Tines and spokes connect to the circle of seasons.

Abandoned irrigation equipment marks the end of harvest season.

Meadow grasses dip to drink from the mountain stream.

Fall leaves cover the ground before winter snow buries the leaves.

A small stream snakes through the golden meadow.

Laden with the remnants of summer growth, autumn’s remnants glow with future promise.

Fall portends sleep and death, yet, in the meadow, among the teasel, there is hope for renewal.

Waiting for wind, meadow weeds cling to seeds that will carry life to new meadows and pastures.

Late fall sunsets mean shorter days and longer nights.